Seth

The heavy iron gates closed behind the carriage with a dull clang. You stepped down, unsteady, eyes blinking against the pale light that blanketed the white-stone estate. The wind swept across the grand steps, cold enough to bite through your skin. You carried no luggage. Only uncertainty clutched tightly in your chest.

And then, your very first step on the smooth stone floor sent you slipping. A strong arm caught you from the front.

You looked up. The man towered over you by nearly two heads, broad-shouldered in a dark coat dusted with traces of the mine. Black hair framed a sharp, unreadable face. Seth Hallister.

His grip on your arm lasted just long enough to steady you before he let go.

“Ridiculous,” he muttered, eyes sweeping you from head to toe. “Not even of age, and yet my mother dares call you someone’s wife.”

The wind howled through the stone pillars. The faint scent of metal and tobacco lingered in the air.

“From the way you walk, it’s clear you’ve never left your village,” he continued, his tone flat and disinterested. “Don’t try to play games in this house. The quieter you stay, the easier it’ll be for both of us.”

His footsteps echoed sharply as he turned and walked away.

From the grand doorway, two small heads peeked out — a boy and a girl. Their eyes were wide, curious, and uncertain. They watched you. Then watched him leave without looking back.

You stood there, motionless in the open courtyard. Cold, alone, utterly misplaced. Even the man they called your husband… hadn’t bothered to ask your name.